An Unexpected Development
by LillyBaaaka
Summary: Harriet Potter has given up hope on maintaining a so-called 'normal' life. So when the unexpected happens, why's she so annoyed? FemHarry
1. Huh?

AN: So I suppose this will be slow building and drabble-ish without regular updates. Honestly, if you provide prompts, I'm more likely to update. Otherwise, the creative juices have to compete with my need to eat and sleep in my free time. This is more an exercise in cleaning out the plot bunnies nesting in my head. No planned pairings at the moment and all the standard disclaimers apply. Fine, if I must say it: I do not own Harry Potter or Star Trek or any recognizable characters, plots, or rights thereof.

One

Harriet was at something of a loss. She didn't know where she was or how she got there. She didn't know why a man in a strange uniform was yelling at her. But most of all, she didn't know why he was yelling at her, in English, with a heavy American accent.

And it looked like rain. Her right eye began to twitch.

Not a minute ago, she had been standing inside her favorite bakery fiddling in her bag for an elusive set of keys. Per usual, she had her extra hot 'surprise' tall (as in large) latte, sugar (as in equally large bakery item), and a general inability to manage sipping said beverage while juggling breakfast, keys, and her phone.

At some point she looked down, phone on her ear, narrowly missing the doorpost, to search through her satchel on her way out

… only to look up and find herself in the middle of a deserted intersection.

She dropped her phone, looked right, looked left, and generally stood looking like a fish out of water. The stranger (an officer?) kept yelling, eventually dragging her out of the street, and down the road a few blocks. He pointed to several signs as he passed them, his tirade gradually reducing itself to angry mutters as he realized she wasn't paying attention.

They stopped, he hurried off, muttering several choice words under his breath. Still dazed, her mouth began to work but no sounds came out.

Eventually, she snapped to. 'Where the hell am I!?' She did a small spin, unconsciously bringing her coffee in close to protect it. Belatedly, she began to franticly look around for the stranger. She couldn't remember which way she had come.

And her coffee was getting cold.

She took a long pull on the dark liquid, taking comfort in the taste. 'Peppermint mocha. Not bad.' She took another sip, then parked herself on the curb.

'Where in Merlin's name am I?"


	2. So Sudden

AN: Please don't expect updates to always come this fast. Still building up to the actual plot but reviews and suggestions welcome.

* * *

This wasn't the first time she'd found herself suddenly transported to a new location. Far from it. In fact, it happened so often it wasn't really all that surprising anymore.

That didn't mean she was prepared at all times. Well, actually, she was. More or less.

Anyway, that wasn't the point. No, the issue was the shear _suddenness_ of the whole thing. She didn't know how or why it happened and she never knew the destination before she got there. It always just sorta happened. To say the least, it was starting to get on her nerves.

The first time she had been frightened, desperate to find a way home. The second and third times, hopeful she was finally on the right track. The third and fourth, she may or may not have despaired.

Then there was that time she suddenly found herself in a gorilla suit in the middle of a cornfield. Followed closely by the time she suddenly found herself skinny dipping in the ocean (luckily there had been a raft nearby). Once, she'd even had the pleasure of meeting a green furbie looking thing that had the strangest fascination with her broom…

By the time she had stopped counting, she was just happy not being chased, worshipped, attacked, prodded, interrogated, stranded, overly cold, overly hot – and so forth upon relocation.

The thing was, everything _looked_ okay. There had to be a catch. When was the last time people had looked like people? The last time she'd heard English? Not ye olde English, but something resembling _proper _English? Merlin's hat, she was in an actual city!

On top of it all, things were actually going pretty well so far, considering she'd fallen out of bed less than thirty minutes ago. She still had her clothes. She hadn't been attacked, trampled, arrested, fired at (by spells, arrows, shotguns, etc), and she was in possession of all her limbs (this had only been an issue once but still). Her bag was in one piece, nothing besides her phone was missing, and it wasn't raining (at least not yet).

For someone who hadn't even had her morning coffee and didn't know where she was? Not too shabby.

She sighed and frowned into her cup. Her brain still wasn't completely up and running but experience subconsciously reminded her body that panicking wasn't the answer.

How was she supposed to deal with suddenly needing to re-orient herself, establishing a new identity – with mustering the urge to care in general – when she couldn't even process what time of day it was? Why was it taking so long for her to get herself up and running?

More importantly, did this place coffee? Tea just didn't do it these days…


	3. Different

AN: This one is submitted in honor of my first reviews! They next few will be out sometime next week and longer out of necessity. This one is longer (if only a little) out of my desire to both bring a little more context and to procrastinate (It's amazing how much energy you find to do something when you don't want to do anything else).

* * *

So appearances could be deceptive.

To begin with, she was in the US apparently, not that the earlier accent hadn't given that away. San Francisco to be exact. At least – that's what the rather loud woman who'd walked by had said. Where in San Francisco, she wasn't quite sure yet. She was still a little dazed.

The thing was, she'd been in the French-ish speaking countryside less than half an hour ago. She hadn't tried apparition since the end of the war, hadn't been near anything resembling floo powder in years (decades, centuries maybe, if she was honest with herself), and unless someone had learned how to turn her coffee cup into an international port key without her knowing, something besides the random (trans-dimensional?) travel was off.

Usually these things had a pattern to them. A certain amount of time passed. The last place wouldn't look or feel remotely like the next place. This was different. This San Francisco felt familiar. The people, humans, looked familiar. The various technology, though different, wasn't all that dissimilar to that of the last. So something about the pattern had changed or was in the process of changing.

Something other than the fact there was a green, scantily clad woman hanging on the arm of an otherwise normal looking guy. She tilted her head, quirked an eyebrow, and followed the pair with her eyes as they walked obliviously down the street. It wasn't entirely new but, well, it certainly didn't happen every day. Or would it? Sip, savor, swallow, bite, chew.

Another difference that convinced her this wasn't _her _San Francisco – not that she'd ever been before. 'A plausible future?' An interesting thought, one that she would dedicate precious brain cells to later.

At the moment, the other eyebrow was joining the first. A blue - 'Person? Surely not' - with - 'are those antennae?' … joined the previous couple in a decidedly comfortable manner. Decidedly comfortable. 'Well, I'll be … Hmph. So, liberal society. Or at least pretty open.'

She stretched her legs out in front of her, took another sip of coffee and a bite of her '- Danish? Hmph, pretty good.' Her bottom was starting to go numb from sitting so long on the curb. In fact, her neck was kinda getting tired too, all this swiveling back and forth in an attempt to process all the new *cough* sights. So she took to staring straight ahead while the coffee slowly worked its own unique magic.

Eventually, another thought filtered past her slightly less sleep muddled (and very possibly still overloaded) mind. 'The city itself seems off too.' She just couldn't put her finger on it. Why did the city seem so different (and when did she stop considering the whole being randomly displaced thing different and off in and of itself?)?

She looked out over the futuristic San Francisco landscape. Sip, savor, swallow, bite, chew.


	4. Spilled Milk

AN: And so the story moves forward. Key concepts: slow building and drabble .. _ish._

By the way, ever managed to pull up the prohibit sign on a mac. Not fun, nope, not fun.

* * *

Sip, savor, swallow, bite, chew – ponder. That was a good word for it. Harriet was pondering.

She was back to the original question: Where was she? The area she was in was still mostly unoccupied. The overcast sky may very well have played a role in that. Still, the place wasn't entirely deserted. She could see some kind of central square off in the distance, filled with what appeared to be more uniformed persons.

A few of the passersby on their way to the more populated area were looking at her funny. Some were even staring. Not that she was worried. In fact, she barely noticed the small group leaving the building in front of her or their general lack of concern for others around them. The part of her brain that was mentally cataloguing her surroundings wondered if this was related to her lack of uniform. Maybe she should get one? From where? Which color? The red seemed more prevalent of the lot…

Mentally, she shook her head. She had more important things to consider, to ponder.

'Right then, recon first, shelter second, then food.'

The priority lay with learning more about how dangerous her new environment was and how to blend in. She was in a city, cities had markets, markets meant ready food sources, ready food sources meant less foraging, less starving (painful much?), lower chance of getting eaten by the locals. Ditto on shelter; it could easily be found or made, given all the resources at her fingertips.

Then there was the possibility of this being a plausible future for her to consider/ ponder. Was it a magical society? If so, would her magic work? If not, how would it impact her magical core or her ability to access it? Prior attempts down this path in other places had led to various results. Her magic had changed after that first little skip through what she assumed was time and space. She really didn't even need a wand so much anymore as intent and control and a good sense of morality and curiosity. On the first two, she just didn't know what she could do anymore until she tried. On the last two, well, let's just say a few tough lessons had been learned.

'There are plenty of colors between white and black, why stick with one or the other?'

Focus. Cautiously, she searched out her core. Good, it was present and shining with an intensity that had long been missing. She would probably be able to do more in this existence than she had in the last few.

'Hopefully I can find that list I made on things to try out a while back.' Not that she wouldn't be trying EVERYTHING out (AGAIN!) for safety's sake. 'Merlin, this is getting old.'

Harriet felt like pouting. Maybe she would. Either way, she let her magical senses expand into the environment around her. The unique charge she had since come to associate with the British magical community of her youth was absent.

'Huh. All non-magicals then?'

This was big and it could very well cause problems. She had no reason to put much stock into secrecy laws per se but no one liked being turned into a science experiment. She mentally tagged the issue for further consideration after a deeper investigation into her new surroundings.

She was almost fully functioning now. Almost. Enough to register how close the group of youngsters had gotten when she considered pushing her senses further out. She quirked another eyebrow.

'Youngsters? Really? Merlin, I'm getting old.'

And she was. Not that anyone could tell by looking at her. Or would dare tell her as much to her face. At 5'4, Harriet was nowhere near the leggy beauty guys tended to idolize or dream of. She looked to be somewhere in her twenties, lean, not entirely fashionable. Exercise and time in the sun had tanned her skin and given her otherwise thin frame a discreet layer of muscle she hadn't had when she was younger. Her unruly jet black curls were pulled and pinned back haphazardly into a sloppy bun, nostalgically held in place by her more or less useless wand. One of her wands at any rate.

One of the youth, wearing a uniform that seemed similar to the stranger from earlier (she'd been too dazed to note any details), laughed loudly, not paying attention to his general surroundings. If he had been, he may have seen her. As it was, he nearly kicked her in the face when his excitement drove him to become more animated. He lost his balance. "AH!" Then he fell.

Harriet had enough time to mentally scoff.

'Was he skipping? That looked awfully like he was trying to sideways skip.'

She reflexively twisted out of the way, narrowly missing the offending appendage and the male's less than graceful fall. On the way down, he bumped his female companion, causing her to drop her books, just as his own possessions began to fly from his hands and a few from his pockets.

Slowly, her look of mild amusement (who trips over themself that hard?) transformed into one of absolute horror.

"You…" Her voice was low, disbelief lacing every word. " No…" Forget pouting - Harriet looked like she was about to cry. 'Why is it always me…'

There, lying on the ground, crushed beneath the weight of … 'that punk!' ... was what was left of her coffee. Lady Harriet Jamie Potter, former savior of the wizarding world, vanquisher of the darkest, most feared wizard of an age, was reduced to stammering over spilled coffee.

Needless to say, the twitch was back.


	5. Multitasking

AN: So I'm not entirely happy with this chapter. I find myself debating on how I should alter Harriet's personality, if at all – more than I already have that is. Reviews on how the characters are shaping up are welcome at any time throughout the story.

* * *

Now is as good a time as any to point out that Harriet may very well be a little too attached to her coffee. It may not even be a stretch to imply she might be addicted or, at the very least, chemically dependent on the beverage. Wouldn't you be a little, and I do mean a _very_ little, attached to your daily fix if it were the first thing remotely reminding you of home since who knows when?

More importantly, have you ever seen someone who may or may not be (but most definitely is) dependent on his or her coffee when someone else takes it away from them? Not a happy moment.

Harriet, as it happened, was now livid. Sputtering forgotten, she turned on the three strangers, eyes wide and full of accusation.

"How DARE YOU! Do you have any idea what you've DONE!"? Verbally assaulting uniformed personnel was perhaps not the best reaction to have when you're quite possibly an undocumented alien. Nonetheless, she indulged in the outburst. If nothing else, it was good stress relief.

The three people before her, all dressed in identical red uniforms, took a moment to be stunned before responding almost as poorly as Harriet. The only female in the group, a platinum blonde, became particularly defensive.

"Who do you think you are! And what are you doing sitting right where everyone can trip over you?" She was getting loud. "You're a hazard and - ."

"What'da mean hazard?! He clearly wasn't paying attention and fell over his own two feet!"

"If you hadn't assaulted him - !"

"Assaulted him! I was _sitting_, innocently catching my breath," which wasn't not true, "when your oblivious friend nearly kicked me in the face!" Her fists clenched at her sides as she visibly tried to calm herself. It seemed her magic was more inclined to react to her emotions here. She could feel it roiling under the surface of her skin.

The blonde's uninjured companion joined in from the side of his friend. "No one near about breaks their shoulder from just falling," he said through gritted teeth.

Harriet's eyes became fierce as she whipped her head around to stare at the male. "Are you a doctor?" She took his silence as a no - not that she'd really given him a chance to respond. "Then how would you know he nearly broke his shoulder?"

Without giving the man enough time to respond, she turned her fierce gaze directly on the offending partly. He was smartly still maintaining his silence.

"Did you break your shoulder? No, you didn't. Why? Because you would have been in a lot more pain and unable to move it properly." Now was also as good a time as any to start trying out the effectiveness of her spellwork. She cast a silent, wandless, diagnostic spell aimed at the guy's shoulder without raising a finger, followed in quick succession by an equally silent _episkey_ – just in case. "As it is," she drawled sarcastically, "you're perfectly okay and suffering from nothing more than being embarrassed in front of your mates!" Not that her spell had told her as much. Harriet simply had an eye for assessing damage to the human, and not so human, body.

The boy/man in the red uniform had the decency to blush. Wincing slightly as he sat up properly, he tried to get his friends to back down. "It's true, Karen. I'm not hurt. I just landed wrong is all."

Karen didn't back down. She and Harriet had locked eyes, neither one willing to let the other 'win.' There was some debate as to whether this fiery streak came from her mother specifically or happened to just be one of those gryffindor traits she'd picked up at school. Either way, Harriet would continue multitasking.

Her war-honed survival instincts had kicked in once the woman had raised her voice (she looked human at any rate). One part actively sized up the threat from the three before her and warned her about the level of attention they were drawing from the sidelines.

Attention could be bad. However, the three in and of themselves didn't seem to pose an immediate threat. The uniform had to mean something, something that gave the girl a sense of entitlement. The clumsy, inattentive one, no more than 20 she guessed, seemed to expect Karen's behavior but wasn't interested in a fight. His brown eyed, brown haired companion, didn't seem more than mildly annoyed on behalf of his friend, who he'd already helped to his feet.

The part of Harriet still locked in a battle of wills couldn't resist the urge to speak. "If you're so concerned for him, why don't you actually try helping him then." Karen was nothing more than a ball of self-important, self-righteous, fake blonde hair dye wearing - Harriet forced herself to stop. A curious sensation passed over her as her magic felt like it was about to jinx something – or someone. 'Definitely got to watch my emotions then.'

The other two walked over quickly, almost bodily restraining Karen from answering with her fists. The coffee cup destroyer's unnamed friend spoke first. "Look, I'm sorry. If everyone's alright - " Harriet took the opportunity to also try a revised _point me_ spell. She was looking for some form of identification, something she could modify. " – then, we can all just go about our way." He gave her an irritated look.

Once again, Harriet couldn't resist. "What about my cup!" What if they didn't have coffee? The man looked like he was about to let go of Karen's shoulder. By this point, she was practically growling at Harriet. None of them actually bothered to look at the object.

Harriet made a big show of taking a deep breath and trying to calm herself. The spell had found something and she wanted to move the item away before they noticed. 'Inside the coffee cup? What if they pick it up?' No, the chances of them offering were pretty low. The chances of anyone noticing the card's short trip into her cup while all eyes were on the theatrics? Even lower. She mentally summoned it.

"You know what, fine, whatever." Folding both hands across her chest, she sniffed in an irritated, overly self-important, manner before turning on her heel to retrieve the no longer empty cup.

There was a moment of general disbelief. Karen once again made as if to go after her before her companion pulled her back. "Come on, let's just help Carl get his things. Civilians aren't worth it."

Harriet waved a hand over her shoulder in a dismissive fashion, casually walking away from the trio. 'So the uniforms are military.' She took a moment to consider the results of her spells, 'or lack thereof.' The results were inconclusive at best. She hadn't received any feed back from the diagnostic spell but given how upset she'd been, it could've just been her lack of conviction. With the _episkey_ spell, her anger shouldn't have mattered as much. Then again, it didn't necessarily heal soreness or mortifying embarrassment.

Suddenly, the silence registered. 'Why'd they stop moving? Why's so quiet?' Just as her head whipped around, the trio started moving again, along with the few onlookers who had been following the exchange.

The one named Carl sheepishly apologized to an only marginally annoyed Karen. "Sorry for knocking into you. I guess I just got carried away." The two guys started gathering up Karen's books and the other loose items strewn about. 'Whaa…'

"Really, Carl, you need to pay more attention." Harriet wasn't sure what to make of the exchange, so she continued to pretend to inspect the state of her cup from a short distance away. "One day you're gonna hurt someone."

"Oh don't be so mean to him. It's not like he hurt you or anyone else."

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Karen subconsciously attempt to flip her hair. Harriet never understood why girls with their hair up always tried to do that. Really, you're hair won't flip if it's bound to your head people!

Focus! She discreetly took a look around. No one was paying much attention to the trio or even her. Harriet sighed. She couldn't tell for sure but it almost seemed like they'd all been confunded. 'Maybe a variety of a notice-me-not?' If so, she would have to be more careful with her hand motions on top of her emotional control. She would also have to see if mentally saying the spell worked better or worse than strength of intent.

She continued to make her way towards an even less populated area. Remembering that red uniforms equaled some form of military service, she decided it would be best to find someplace where the uniforms were not. She emptied what she assumed was the identification card she'd summoned into her leather satchel. She would investigate it and transfer it to the mokeskin pouch hanging from her neck later. For now, she didn't want to draw any more attention to herself.

"Wait." Harriet halted. "I was not aware anyone at the Academy possessed such capabilities."

Merlin bless - _now_ what?

* * *

And so it begins.


	6. Discoveries, Pt I

AN: This chapter will be posted in three parts so there is some form of update this week. To those of you who asked, yes, this is before the Narada incident but I haven't settled on an exact time frame yet. Harriet needs some time to develop for me to get the story on the path I want.

Side note: Ever considered taking classes in legal history? Here's a recommendation: Try reading up on it first. It tends to make people with opinions/hope/dreams rather upset/ tired at how the world has been turning these last few centuries or so.

* * *

Part 1: Tact

Harriet spun on her heel. One. The other had just snapped.

'Merlin's _bloody_ pants!' This was getting out of control. She was turning into a walking cliché. In less than fifteen minutes things had gone from annoying but tolerable to frustrating and looking worse.

Grinding her teeth, she squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed at her temple. The slight feel of the faded scar beneath her fingers finally brought her back to reality and she looked up tiredly. "Yes? Can I help you?" 'This better be good.'

There was no doubt the speaker had been talking to her. The man was standing less than five feet away, staring directly at her, wearing, go figure, what appeared to be the exact. same. uniform.

'These people really need to learn how to express themselves better.'

She gave the man a quick once over and revised her initial assessment. He was male, of that she was certain, but a man? Probably not. First off, there were the ears. Far too pointy to be human. 'Is he…' Irrelevant. She let the question slide and continued her assessment. There was a slight greenish tint to his skin. It wasn't an over whelming green, like the female from earlier, but it was still noticeable. Almost like it was the color of his blood as opposed to the color of the skin itself. 'Interesting.' The next thing she noticed was his near perfect hair. 'Is it naturally like that? Wonder what he uses - ' Also not important. Chugging right along, she noted he was around 6'1, 6'2 – and in possession of a pair of eyebrows that even Snape would admire.

She took a moment to admire their doubtlessly unintentional expressiveness.

And, of course, his red uniform, all variants of which she was beginning to harbor if not hate, then a strong, near passionate dislike for. Her admiration waned. 'Coffee killers…'

"As I stated, I was not aware anyone at the Academy possessed such capabilities. Are you a student here?"

Her eyes widened slightly. Crap. 'What does he know? What does he mean by 'capabilities'? Can civilians even be here?! Should I pretend to be a student?' No, she'd learned that lesson already. Claiming any affiliation prior to knowing the EXACT implications equals _no go _(don't ask - we're all better off not knowing).

In an entirely too polite manner, she blandly asked, "To what capabilities are you referring sir?" 'That's right, don't panic, act natural, totally normal, you're not some caffeine deprived, borderline hysterical, slightly emotional, potentially abnormal, definitely guilty -.'

The male's eyebrow rose ever so slightly, cutting the spiral short. 'Man those things are intimidating.'

"I am referring to what I must presume are your telepathic abilities. I approached with the objective to reprimand the Ensign for his conduct and inform him of my intention to report his behavior to the Board for corrective action. However, his sudden change in behavior and the manner in which all persons within the immediate vicinity ceased activity for approximately 7.82 seconds would suggest an unconscious, if not forced, shift in perception."

He paused, his eyes still boring into Harriet's. 'Well, that answers that question.' She remained silent, hoping he would provide some clue as to a plausible explanation without carting her away to some top-secret lab.

With no answers forthcoming, he continued in the same direct, almost clinical, manner. "Given my general inability to affect such changes in behavior, your ability to remain in motion, and the nature of the interaction before the anomaly, it would be logical to conclude that you were the source."

'Anomaly?' Not good. The magical 'vibe' was still absent from her surroundings. If this guy was part of the military, his observation of 'the anomaly' could spell disaster. On the other hand, he hadn't gone crying to the hills. If his unemotional reaction was anything to go by, he could very well be accustomed to such sights, just not here, on 'the Academy.' 'The Academy of what?' Not an immediate concern, although it was getting closer to the top of the list.

Still, if similar 'capabilities' were normal, maybe something similar enough to magic existed for her to hide behind? She cocked her head to the side. You know, the longer she stared at him, the more a part of her really wanted to ask that original question… She imagined the male in front of her was getting impatient. She had to imagine because his face seemed as unchanging as his monotone. He clearly expected a response.

… Not to mention his eyebrows alone were beginning to make her feel inadequate.

"If you can refute this assumption, then you should do so at this time."

Well there it was. Harriet mentally snapped to attention. Time to take action. Right.

_Obliviate_! No?

_Confundus! _'Whaaa?' Magic when she doesn't call on it, no magic when she does! Now, she felt like stomping her foot (but she looked ridiculous enough as it was, standing there silent with only one heel and her brow furrowed in concentration). In less time than it would have taken to cast another spell, she considered her options. She could run. But where would that get her? And how far could she really get? Could she risk apparition before getting a real hold on her magic? In the end, she settled for trying the verbal, and (even more) visually absurd, route first.

With all the intent and will she could muster, she _pointed _at him and firmly stated aloud, "Obliviate."

… Nothing.

"Confundus."

… Not a twitch. 'In for a knut, in for a galleon as they used to say.'

"Wing-GAR-dee-um Levi-O-sa." She huffed in disbelief. NOTHING! 'Well call me a hippogriff and sla- Wait a minute!'

She lowered her hand and struck a (clearly just as ridiculous) contemplative pose, re-evaluating the man – no, male - before her. The earlier thought had wiggled its way back to the foreground. 'If he was, it might explain why my magic isn't working on him…' After a moment, Harriet looked back up. She had to, he was simply too tall.

It began to rain. Drizzle, really. Actually, it was definitely closer to the standard San Fran layer of mist that generally invaded whenever it felt like it. Wasn't so much rain as beads of moisture. Didn't matter, it was one drop of moisture too many for the frustrated, ready for the next cup of coffee, entirely too tempted, somewhat fed-up, and now thoroughly distracted Harriet. She just had to ask the question. It didn't matter if it wasn't the sort of question you _asked_ someone you just met, who clearly wasn't human, and who may very well try to arrest you and take you in for questioning. She had to ask.

So, summoning her Gryffindor courage (or succumbing to her Gryffindor recklessness – either or), she did.

"Are you an elf?"

Tact and subtlety had always been more of a Slytherin thing anyway.

* * *

Believe it or not, I actually find Spock hard to write. Back to midterm madness.


	7. Discoveries, Pt II

AN: No, the time line will not be significantly speeding along for a while yet. There will however be a style change, at some point, away from mostly drabble-ish to … something … not … mostly drabble-ish…

Quaff: 2 4 2

* * *

Part 2: Fascinating

A part of Spock, a part that shall be fondly referred to as Spock's Eyebrow, ever so dearly wanted to twitch. Given the sentiments of the owner however it settled for moving only a fraction of an inch - perhaps less - higher. Anything more would be a clear demonstration of his (brief) surprise and, dare we suggest, incredulity.

Spock, The Whole that is, took this (brief) moment to collect himself. It would not be appropriate to give into his emotions (and really, even if he did, he wasn't sure if he was perturbed, confused, surprised, angry, all of the above, all of the below, or actually just plain ol' fashioned fascinated - Humans, ya'kno?).

The human female before him did not appear … typical for her species. She was dressed neither in a Star Fleet uniform nor the clingy materials seemingly favored by female cadets while not in uniform. Indeed, even _in _uniform Terran females had a tendency to reveal more skin than the female of unknown origins before him. Instead, she was dressed in a simple flowing garment that reached just past her knees and a light covering, both with simple embellishments that were not displeasing to the eye. The restraint in both color and extravagance had an oddly calming affect on his Vulcan sensibilities.

[The Eyebrow wondered if it was capable of raising an internal eyebrow at Spock's subconscious reaction. Sensibilities huh?]

He was sure she was wearing what was generally described as a dress, though it bore similarities to what females sometimes referred to as a tunic … or perhaps it was just a long shirt? The complexities of Terran female dress escaped him.

Not that he found the topic particularly appealing or relevant to the performance of his duties. Or even the situation at hand.

[Eyebrow: Not. at. all.]

Yet it had not escaped his notice that the entire ensemble seemed organic in nature. Even her footwear (what remained of it) seemed to be woven of some material not readily known to him, not replicated or mass-produced.

'Fascinating.' Perhaps she could be convinced to submit them to study? He considered which protocol would be appropriate for making the request.

He would need to ascertain her origins first. If she had indeed been trying to communicate using the archaic language, he had not understood her meaning. Of course, it was possible English was not her preferred mode of communication. There were several Earth communities that persisted in preserving their cultural heritage by emphasizing a different linguistic tradition during the earliest stages of compulsory education. Yet her accent did not match with any earth dialect he had yet encountered. There was a slight hint of an English accent, yes, but she spoke as if she had not spoken the language for some time or had perhaps acquired the skill from a British national.

With some reluctance, he conceded his lack in expertise on the matter and resolved to seek a more qualified individual to question. He was mollified with knowing for a fact Latin at least was (still) a dead language.

The words however were important. On this both The Whole and The Eyebrow expressed their confidence. She was more than likely trying to replicate the event from earlier. Perhaps the action of verbalizing was meant to aide in achieving focus?

Humans were typically unable to manipulate psionic energy without external assistance and had a low awareness of psionic energy in general. Telepathy amongst humans who were not hybrids was thus exceptionally rare. Was she part Betazoid? Perhaps she had utilized some form of device?

'Fascinating.' He was unaware such a device yet existed. And where did she keep it? How did she activate it? Would she be adverse to his examining that item as well as her clothing?

[The Eyebrow considered raising an eyebrow at this but decided Spock was simply too busy being fascinated to understand the meaning behind the action.]

In the inconceivably short amount of time it took for him to consider all of this, the woman in front of him, for lack of a better word, deflated.

'Fascinating.' He finally understood how the term could be applied to one's physical appearance. Human. Physical Appearance. If she was human, to which there was a 98.4 percent chance she was at least a hybrid, her appearance would also reflect her mental status - a status he had yet to ascertain.

Past interactions with Terran females had also taught him questioning her mental stability directly would not be well received.

Was this a human display of fear? His time amongst humans would not suggest that such an action would be abnormal. It was very possible she was externally reacting to an internal manifestation of emotion. 'Intriguing.'

… Perhaps the device was experimental, in which case, he was obliged to bring it to the attention of his superiors. There were other options -

"Look, I really can't think like this. I'm lost, confused, its raining," it wasn't, but Spock wisely chose to keep this bit of information to himself "and I can barely stand. Can we at least discuss this somewhere I can sit down and not feel like you're about to cart me off to some lab and dissect me?" Her accent was made more evident during the now clear display of emotion. Exasperation, he believed it was called. Or was it irritation?

"That is not my intention." Her reasoning was sound and the request was not unreasonable. He didn't quite know how to handle clear displays of human emotion (for all that he still found their various combinations and manifestations fascinating). He brought himself to his full height and gave the slightest of nods.

"There is a location that will serve our purposes nearby. I will even be able to supply you with some tea. I have often observed its calming effects."

Her face reflected an emotion he could not properly name.

'Fascinating.'

* * *

Harriet stared blankly ahead, mouth open wide, eyes watering. Honestly, she was torn between being relieved at the thought of finding a more discreet location to rest and distressed at the reminder of her loss. Eventually she worked her mouth into asking, "Is it far?"

"Approximately 0.176 miles from our present location."

"Right," she said in a small voice. Rallying, she gave a brief, determined nod before bending to remove her shoes. For a moment she contemplated putting them into her bag. 'No, don't want him to observe anything else that may be classified as an anomaly' … like an undetectable extension charm. O~r a featherweight charm. Or the fact that the satchel was really made from dragon hide, moved like dragon hide, and was only charmed to look like something the locals wouldn't think twice about. Which was apparently leather. How … Muggle.

She settled for carrying them and squared her shoulders. "IF you would lead Mr~?"

"Spock." 'No rank?' He was giving her a look that said she was being assessed. 'Probably calculating my flight risk.'

"This way." Hands still clasped behind his rather straight back, he began walking. Harriet kept pace - for the most part (Merlin, his legs were long). Her survival instincts told her keeping just within his periphery would help soothe over some of the worries about her disappearing suddenly. Every little bit counted at this point.

"As to your previous query, I am a Vulcan."

"A what?" 'Were Vulcans a subset of elves?'

"A Vulcan." 'Talkative, this one is.'

"And I suppose that means you're from Vulcan."

"Indeed." 'Couldn't even give a simple yes?'

"Have you ever met an elf?"

His eyebrow twitched. "I cannot profess to such an encounter." Harriet resisted the urge to pinch her nose.

[The Eyebrow wished it were capable of snickering].

Fine. She could play this game too. She began to pointedly glance at his ears every thirty seconds or so, bare feet unbothered by her inattention. As they continued walking, a few passersby sent them a glance or two of their own.

After two full minutes of silence, she caved. "Does everyone from Vulcan look like an Elf?" 'Was that a stutter step? Ha! It was!'

"I assure you there are several races throughout the Federation who possess the attribute you are inquiring about." 'Don't tell he's sensitive about it. Maybe it's just a pride thing. I certainly wouldn't be quick to claim Dobby as a cousin. Specially not to a stranger.'

Two more minutes passed. 'How far was this place?' Harriet had to assume they were almost at their destination. They were approaching a tall but somehow less imposing building than the one she had seen with all uniforms coming and going. If she had to guess, the building either wasn't intended for student use or the upcoming entrance wasn't often used.

"May I make an inquiry of my own?" They had just reached a set of sturdy glass doors with a strange symbol emblazoned on them.

'Why not? I've already learned some (read: a very miniscule amount) new information. Appearing helpful and compliant may soothe over any ruffled feathers (Merlin knew the _hair_ wouldn't dare to even consider _ruffling_).'

As the Vulcan entered a passcode to presumably allow them access (something the multitasking side of her made note of), he considered how to word his question. At least, she assumed he did, the elf, or ah Vulcan?, no _male_ (because he still hadn't given her a direct answer), displayed the emotional range of a suit of armor.

He held the door for her. "Are the ornaments attached to your ears edible?"

Harriet's eyes brightened with mirth as a wry grin graced her mouth. "Vegetables, actually." She stepped through and the heavy doors closed with a click.

"Fascinating."

* * *

Ever wondered how often Spock _actually_ says fascinating?


	8. Discoveries, Pt III

AN: Ended up writing this when I should have been studying. Naturally, it's the longest chapter to date and still doesn't progress us very far.

Also, something to consider: Given how long Harriet may have been traveling and what she may or may not have had to face in her unknown number of years, is it really all that far fetched to think she may be splintering around the edges?

* * *

Part III: Starwhaaa?

Harriet sat crossed legged on the ground, elbows to knees, slim fingers interlocked beneath her chin. Ultimately, she'd had to concede the round. She wasn't sure she ever wanted to play the waiting game with him ever again. Or any game really that involved Spock where she wasn't completely aware of the rules or the boundaries or the pieces or the species or the meaning behind all the different uniforms –

'Why in Merlin's name are they color-coded anyway! Who ARE these people?!' Well, she could actually answer part of that question now, thank you very much.

To begin with, Mr. Anomaly's name was Spock. He was not human. He was a Vulcan, from Vulcan, wherever that happened to be. While he was not an elf (Harriet still had problems accepting this), he was a Star Fleet officer, wearing a Star Fleet uniform. Within this Star Fleet, Spock was a Lieutenant. Lieutenants were some form of junior officer but not Ensigns, although Ensigns were more junior than other junior officers. The three from earlier had been Ensigns, which ranked lower than Lieutenants of any sort but higher than cadets and crewmen. Harriet used this knowledge to deduce the Star Fleet was some form of government sponsored armed service – most likely naval given all the references to Ensign this or Ensign that.

Then there was Spock, who, as it happened, was not the type of person who told falsehoods. No, he had not lied to her. He had not taken her to a lab to be dissected. He had in fact assured her, "carting her off to a lab to be dissected" was against the Star Fleet directive (Harriet felt the air quotes were absolutely necessary, but we digress). Whatever 'the' Star Fleet directive was or was not, being a literal alien apparently wasn't going to be as much of an issue as being an undocumented one. Hopefully, she would get a chance to fix that (the sacrifice of her coffee deserved nothing less).

Moving on, Spock claimed, and currently maintained, that she was "safe" (air quotes!). He, and now others, merely wished to know more about her abilities. If he did not know the nature or extent of her abilities, he could not properly report or reprimand the three Ensigns who were wearing red uniforms. Junior officers and red uniforms apparently went hand in hand – until her trip through the building had _also _shown her that Junior officers could wear blue uniforms when they weren't busy wearing the red ones. Well, Spock had addressed the male as 'Ensign' anyway.

The material point however was that he had done so shortly after he had brought her to what turned out to be a holding facility. Harriet was quite certain it was a holding facility too. Nothing says holding facility like being led into a room with only one exit and offered a seat in a lone chair and a sad excuse for a bed only for a shield of some sort to spring in place after you take a seat. Definitely what one might at _the very least _call a 'cell.'

To Harriet's credit, she hadn't walked directly into the holding cell. No, she'd had a solid ten or fifteen minutes of gaping here and there while Spock indulged her (himself in wonder at her wonder) and _then _gone to the holding cell. Not that she wasn't expecting something of the sort but, _Merlin help her_ the Vulcan's perfectly unaffected manner was infuriatingly misleading. If he had attended Hogwarts, he would have been a slytherin. She was sure of it.

'Green blooded elf.' (His blood had to be green. Upon further inspection, she was sure his skin wasn't itself green, something underneath it was). 'Great, that's even better, he probably actually _bleeds_ green.'

And now he was sipping his tea – TEA – from a seated position in front of her with that completely neutral expression and those simultaneously infuriating and intimidating eyebrows.

Her green eyes studied his face intently. Really, she'd never known how expressive someone's eyebrows could be until she'd met Spock. For the time being though, they were the only things giving away any hints. She decided that while the overall execution of his 'not taking her to be dissected but confining her for further experimentation/ interrogation' was quite brilliant, she didn't care for it. Or the tea – TEEEAAAA – that he so _kindly_ provided for her.

To Spock's credit, he did say he could supply her with tea and a location where she could sit down out of the rain (which she was also ready to concede in full hadn't been very rainy rain anyway). So, once more, she couldn't say he'd lied or misled her. He'd merely withheld information.

'Bloody giant green blooded snake like elf.'

Simply put, Harriet was annoyed, both with herself and with him. She had met non-human, non-magical creatures before. She was even comfortable living with them to a certain extent. He was perhaps the first non-human, non-elf living in an apparently mostly human society she had met, but that wasn't too far fetched. She could adapt. She could even adapt to living in a society based strictly on science. Been there, done that (mostly - avoidance strategies may have factored in greatly).

She was even planning to, ah, _acquire_ a set of those _Star Fleet_ uniforms when the opportunity presented itself to aid in the process. Even though they looked terribly uncomfortable. The female uniform was probably too short to boot too, if the society was truly as liberal as she suspected it to be.

'Why do militaries put their female members in skirts anyway? Sure, no one mistakes you for a bloke but, really, it's not like you can run in those things. Might as well be running nude by the time the skirt hikes up, some o' 'em are so short. What if there's an emergency? Or a surprise attack?'

No, Harriet was more annoyed that she couldn't really _stay_ annoyed with Spock. Of all the other annoying issues presented by her current situation, the fact that she actually admired the Vulcan in front of her was the most upsetting. It implied a lot more than she was willing or ready to deal with.

Spock continued to meet her gaze without wavering. He clearly wasn't in a hurry.

'Must of contacted his superiors when he went for the tea (tea!) or spoke with that Ensign. Well, let's see how this plays out then.'

She was actually fairly certain this whole holding cell nonsense was someone else's idea. Spock seemed more the type to ship her off to a lab as a personal science project than one to lock her away for military grade interrogation.

Besides, while Harriet was admittedly terrible at the tactfully asking questions and patiently waiting for answers game, that didn't mean she was incapable of withholding information – or even, cough, _acquiring_ it without permission (merlin help her, she was going to be doing a lot of acquiring in the near future). Not that anyone needed to know that. Although she was quite sure Spock already knew or suspected as much if those eyebrows were anything to go by.

For the moment, there was only the one question circling in the part of her mind allowed to engage directly with Spock:

'TEA?! Really?! Dear Merlin, he actually went 'n made a pot of tea! Who is this guy?' Okay, that may technically count as two, possibly three questions but no one's _actually_ counting right?

* * *

Spock's dark eyes rose from his cup to meet her intense green.

"Is the tea not to your expectation?"

Harriet considered him for a moment more before breaking eye contact long enough to finally accept the cup placed just on the inside edge of the energy field. Her magical senses were still tingling but she was pretty sure it was muggle technology. If her journey through the halls was anything to go by, Spock was the only real blind spot for her. Even then, he wasn't as much of a blind spot as, well, an anomaly. Her magic just felt – different – near him. 'Not quite absent, not quite all there. Or maybe it was there but different? Altered somehow to account for his non-humanness?' She put it down as another issue she would have ponder in more detail.

"Would I be correct in presuming that dosing, spiking, poisoning, or otherwise placing additives or unexpected substances in a drink offered to a confined guest who has yet to threaten you or your territory is also against the Star Fleet directive?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "You would be correct."

'How reassuring.' She pointedly waited a moment before taking a sip.

… It was actually pretty good… and British. So wonderfully, reassuringly British… Not that he needed to know that. [Eyebrow: We do.]

They fell into a comfortable silence that Spock eventually broke a few slow sips later.

"I must presume from your silence that the tea is serving its purpose."

Harriet partially closed her eyes for a moment and made a slight guttural sound, a gesture that would have meant approval at a different time, in a different place. "So it is."

She was, in fact, feeling much better. The feel of solid earth beneath her toes during the walk over had been soothing. The cold floor beneath her and the Vulcan in front of her was not, but the smell and taste of tea from a distant past that she could only just remember was drawing her more engaged part farther away. Once more, there was silence.

"Then if you are rested, we shall proceed." Harriet, half-heartedly drawn back to the present, huffed.

"We as in you and me or we as in you and your superiors?"

The eyebrow was back in play. Harriet idly wondered what kind of workout routine he had it on…

"I am certain –"

"Enough of this." Spock rose smoothly to his feet, clasping his hands once more behind his back, calming making room for the new arrival. "Who are you and how did you get onto Academy grounds?"

Great, ANOTHER uniform.

* * *

Spock had to remind himself that this was not entirely his concern. He was, in fact, only earth side because Captain Daniels had ordered him to take leave. In 10 hours, he would take a shuttle to the San Francisco Space Dock, where he would report for duty onboard the Artemis as a recently promoted Second Officer.

The female in front of him however was preoccupying far more of his attention than his mental preparations for his upcoming cruise required.

It had not initially been his intention to make her less inclined to answer questions. He had only wished to ensure she would not run away. While her ability to bypass the Academy's external security problems required attention, her actions thus far were not indicative of an express threat. There was a high probability she was as confused and lost as she said she was. There was also a possibility she did not know or understand her own abilities.

In other words, he was certain she was in need of a medical (and psychological) evaluation.

He had said as much to the officer on duty at the medical center while she staring at one of the displays in the back entrance hall. He couldn't quite understand why he had been directed to escort her to a secure room for dangerous patients when directing her to the care of a physician or xenobiologist would have been the more logical route.

Now however he could see no quick or efficient method for recovering any ground he may have gained by providing her with shelter and tea. Gone was the female that Spock had observed sitting oddly out of place on the curb and the equally odd wide-eyed wonder she had displayed during their journey to the building's secure holding area. In its place was a warrior preparing to go into battle, face suddenly hard, she had quietly continued into the room without complaint, head tall, confident, and quiet.

She had reacted as expected to the tea and he had hoped to use her relaxed state as an opportunity to gain further information, preferably starting with her name. He was particularly intrigued by her lack of knowledge and general fascination with technology. As unfathomable as it was, all the evidence before him suggested she was not only 'confused' but also unaware of how to interact with a computer interface system.

Really, given this and her answers to his earlier questions, there was no logical reason to think holding this conversation in this manner was going to accomplish the anyone's objectives.

* * *

"The Lieutenant says you claim to be lost. I find that rather hard to believe. Starfleet Academy is a very well known, highly recognizable name in a very well known, highly recognizable location."

Harriet's only response to the man was to raise an eyebrow of her own (a poor imitation of Spock's) before going calming back to sipping her tea. Spock was one thing, but this, this was entirely different. This was working into a proper interrogation. She wondered how far she should let it go on.

"Are you implying all the Starfleet uniforms you saw when you bypassed security didn't mean anything to you?"

'He has to be some kind of ranking officer. Spock doesn't seem like the type to simply allow someone to intercede in his well calculated efforts.' She didn't doubt for a moment that Spock had been planning out their discussion from the moment he offered to provide her with tea and shelter.

"Why were you attempting to influence Starfleet officers?" He was becoming decidedly cross with her. 'That might be an understatement.' "Are you aware of how your actions can, and shall, be taken?" Harriet shrugged. 'Besides, I wasn't trying to do what you most likely think I was trying to do anyway.'

"If you don't start cooperating, you could be sitting in here for a very long time." 'Growling and speaking, just when I was starting to think how terribly unoriginal he was being.' "You could be facing serious charges with serious consequences!"

Harriet's eyes moved to meet the Vulcan's. For a moment, it felt almost as if, as if she were just on the edge of _his_ shields, as if her magic were attempting to, well not dive into the mind arts, but almost as if they were trying to _blend_ with something. 'But what? Why does it even feel like he has shields? It didn't quite feel like this before…'

Her eyes moved back to the Uniform in front of her, cutting him off before he could voice his next threat. "Could be and am are two very different things." She narrowed her eyes. "Besides, I don't respond well to threats."

The man's nose flared as he grew angrier. "Who. Are. You? It's the last time I'm going to ask." She imagined would be showered in spit if not for the energy shield. 'Hopefully, it will also be the last time someone sends you to do an interrogation. You're pants at it.'

"Good." Her steady gaze lost some of its edge as she smirked. "Your conversation skills leave something to be desired."

Apparently, that was the wrong (or right) thing to say. He stormed off, angrily speaking into some kind of communication device on or near his collar.

Spock was evidently intrigued enough to raise BOTH eyebrows at her. Harriet took it as a compliment. Then she smiled like someone who was about to do something they shouldn't and well knew someone was going to find it irritating.

"So Spocky Pocky," she sat up, grin almost feral, "tell me more about the Star Fleet? Some sort of special naval operations base?" 'They probably think I'm some sort of spy. Well, can't say I've ever really had a _good_ kinda sorta relationship with a government. Why start now?'

His eyebrow, surprisingly, didn't raise but furrowed. [Eyebrow: more like cringed.]

"Your assumption is incorrect." Well, more like it contracted in the slightest of ways. "Starfleet is a deep-space exploratory and defense service maintained by the United Federation of Planets…"

(Spock actually continued on for a bit, no doubt doing a swimming job of recounting Starfleet history. As it is, Harriet stopped paying attention around about the word 'planets')

"Wait – Planets? As in plural?" The more expressive, not seemingly dangerous Harriet was back full swing. "As in, well, you mean Vulcan's not a city somewhere?" (It won't due to stutter Harriet!)

Spock fought to maintain a neutral expression. "No. Vulcan is an M-class planet in the Vulcan system, a little over sixteen light years from Earth."

Once more, Harriet found herself fighting off shock. After everything else that had happened, what was meeting a green-blooded, non-human, not-an-elf alien from another planet? Even made logical sense right? Sure, if she could get pass one teeny, tiny possibly problematic thought:

_Actual_ space travel? As in stars and phasers and space-time continuums and and and and large metal containers that can be left drifting out in the middle of no where for years and years and years until overly excitable men in little blue police boxes that don't exist come and rescue you and and and –

She'd rather to kiss a nesting female Norwegian Ridgeback that was trying to kill her.

Needless to say, she was gone before he could finish.

* * *

Prompts: How distracting yet useful italicizing actually is; Military ranks are confusing!; and Harriet had that one possible run in with the Doctor that drove her, and him, mental.


End file.
